Wildflower (Colors #4) (2 page)

Until he wasn’t.

At that very moment his size and strength did nothing but infuriate me more.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, lifting the flap of the envelope and pulling out the papers inside. Those warm eyes grew wide, his full lips parted on a heavy exhale as his jaw dropped.

I spoke before he could say so much as one word in objection.

“Sign them,” I demanded. “Sign them and let me go. This isn’t want you want. It never was. I’m giving you an out. All you have to do is sign the papers.”

“I don’t want a fucking
out
,” he growled.

The next words out of my mouth froze him in place and I knew I’d finally hit my mark. “Then do it for me. Sign them and let me go so I can try and get back to happy.” My voice broke on a sob that bubbled up in my throat. “I hate feeling this way all the time. I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to.” Brushing the tears from my cheeks, I looked at him beseechingly, wanting—no,
needing
—him to understand. “This isn’t the life I thought we’d have. I don’t want this life. I want something better.”

My voice was so quiet I feared he might not have heard me, but then his eyes grew wet as he looked down at me. His voice came out scratchy, full of regret. “We can fix this.
I
can fix this. You have to let me, baby.”

“Sign the papers, Noah. Give me that. I haven’t asked you for anything. You owe me this.”

He stood motionless for what felt like a lifetime before finally turning on his heels and storming from the room, papers still in hand.

That was the last time I saw my husband.

With a dramatic groan, I collapsed onto a bus bench, falling to my back in exhaustion as the people passed by and stared at my somewhat childish, yet completely justifiable behavior.

“Jesus Christ, will you please get up? You’re acting like a baby.”

Lifting my head just slightly, I tried to melt Rowan’s face off with my eyes. “No!” I spat as I lifted a hand to shield my eyes from the sun so I could give him the full potential of my go-to-hell gaze without the sun blinding me. “I’m freezing, I lost feeling in my fingers three shops ago, my shoes are filling up with blood, and if I have to listen to the words cut, color, clarity, or carat one more goddamned time, I’m going to lose my shit, Rowan. I swear to God.

“Dear Christ,” he grumbled under his breath. “You’re just as dramatic is Navie. You’re both ridiculous.”

“Are not!”

“Are too—oh God, I can’t believe I’m having this conversation right now,” he laughed humorlessly as he ran his hands through his hair in frustration. His rumpled hair did nothing but make him even better looking. If I didn’t hate him with a fiery passion for dragging me around half the friggin’ city looking for “the perfect ring” to propose to my best friend with, I’d willingly admit he was one of the best looking guys I’d ever laid eyes on, and I could totally understand why Navie fell for him. But I
did
hate him and I wanted him to suffer greatly; preferably from severe adult acne and grownup braces. But at that moment I’d take whatever I could get.

“Your feet wouldn’t be bleeding if you didn’t insist on wearing ridiculous heels to walk around New York while we looked for rings. Now get your ass up and help me find the perfect ring!”

“You know,” I started as I stood from the bench, my hands planted firmly on my hips. “I can now understand why Navie gets all stabby sometimes. Just an FYI, if she ever murders you, I’ll totally help her hide the body.”

Not waiting for a response from him, I started up the sidewalk, my feet protesting every single step I took. Rowan was right, I picked the wrong shoes to traipse around the city to ring-shop in. But I’d be damned if I admitted that out loud. Besides, they looked fabulous, so the pain was worth it.

“One more store, Rowan, that’s it.”

“Well, you know what they say. Tenth time’s the charm.”

He wasn’t kidding. We’d visited nine stores already. All of them held the most beautiful rings imaginable. Many of them, I knew for a fact Navie would love. None of them—according to Rowan—were good enough for his future fiancée.

When he first asked me if I’d help him find a ring so he could propose to my best friend, I’d been ecstatic. He had it all planned out, he was going to pop the question when her family came to town and they finally mixed clans for the first time on Thanksgiving break.

Even though I wasn’t a huge fan of the idea of marriage for my own personal reasons, I was thrilled that my friend had met the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. I wasn’t a believer in soul mates or happily-ever-afters, but just because I was a Negative Nancy didn’t mean I wasn’t happy for those I loved that still held on to that notion. After what I’d experienced earlier in my life, I was anti-matrimony, but I was still excited to be a part of my friend’s happiness.

Now after a full day of this bullshit? Not so much.

The bell jingled over the door as we stepped into the next store and out of the frigid New York winter air. It was like fate was smiling down on me, sympathetic to my poor feet and frostbit fingers, because the instant the door closed behind us I saw it, and judging by Rowan’s deep inhalation he spotted it too. We made a beeline for the case, both our mouths hanging open in awe. It was
perfect
!

“That’s the one,” Rowan said at the same time I breathed, “That’s it.”

A gorgeous sapphire, the same color as Navie’s eyes, shimmered as though a spotlight was focused on it. The center stone sat pillowed in sparkly clear diamonds. Think Princess Di, but a little more modern. It was classic. It was beautiful. It screamed antique. And as Rowan asked the jeweler to take it out of the case for closer inspection, I had to refrain from jumping up and down in the middle of the store, clapping for joy that I was finally off the hook. I never knew it was possible, but after my day with Rowan, I officially hated shopping.

I stared at the ring in amazement, tuning out their muffled voices as Rowan made his transaction. All the while, I imagined how gorgeous it would look resting on Navie’s left ring finger. I couldn’t wait to see her reaction when he finally popped the question.

On that thought, my phone rang from inside my purse. I stepped away, content to leave Rowan on his own now that I’d dutifully completed my part as bestest friend forever. I grinned as I saw the name on the display and swiped the screen, lifting it from my ear, thinking my day had just gotten better.

“Hey, shrimp. How’s it going?”

“Low-Low,” my brother spoke through the line. His voice broke and my heart sank. “I need you to come home. It’s Grammy.”

And just like that, my good mood evaporated.

I couldn’t believe I was back. Sure, I’d made a trip or two back to my hometown just outside of Jackson Hole, Wyoming each year for the holidays, but those were only long weekends. Three, maybe four, days at the most. I never thought I’d be stuck
living
here again. That wasn’t the plan when I ran away nearly six years ago.

But my life had taken a sharp turn, nearly careening off the side of a cliff in the process, and I was left with no choice but to roll with the punches.

As the room around me ebbed and flowed with the soft murmur of voices I wasn’t paying any attention to, I felt a slight pressure on my hand, my fingers being squeezed softly, and I was reminded of the reason why I was back. The reason why I gave up everything I had and returned to a place I hated. The reason why I was going to get my shit together and my head on straight, no matter what.

Because I was the adult and he was the kid. He needed me more than I needed to escape. I was all he had left, and that wasn’t a position I took lightly. He meant everything to me.

I turned my head and looked at Ethan sitting next to me in the pew, and I couldn’t help but smile. My little brother was getting so big. The boy was only fourteen years old and he was already nearly as big as me. It seemed like he’d grown a foot since the last time I visited.

“Hey,” I whispered, nudging his shoulder with mine. “How you holding up, shrimp?”

Clearly, my nickname for him no longer held the same meaning it had for the past fourteen years.

Ethan cut his narrowed-eyed glare at me, trying to look tough even though I could see a tiny glimmer of humor in his hazel eyes. The very same hazel as my own. “Give it a week and I’ll be taller than you,” he whispered back, his voice slightly huskier than the last time I’d visited as well.